


The Little Touches.

by Crowley_Kitten



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Affection, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, M/M, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25596061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowley_Kitten/pseuds/Crowley_Kitten
Summary: this was originally posted as part of my vignettes.this is a work of unrelated single chapter shorts.a sweet, short shot of comfortable domesticity and non sexual touching. only two words of dialogue.in original location herehttps://archiveofourown.org/works/25272088?view_full_work=true
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28
Collections: Week 14: Let me braid your hair





	The Little Touches.

In the days, weeks, months, years, that followed the Armageddon that never came, there were many touches. It started with holding hands. soft kisses. the hooking of a hand around an elbow, while guiding a good friend in the direction you were going. The brush of a knee to a knee as, seated side by side, a thigh relaxed just enough to fall open.

  
The wipe of a thumb to a smidgeon of chocolate sauce escaping hungry pink lips. The brushing back of a tendril or dark blood red hair, behind an ear, exposing a serpent sigil. all the better to kiss it.

Crowley emerged from the bathroom, robed in black satin with a red trim, a soft, fluffy cream coloured towel around his head, and descended the spiral stairs into the main atrium of the shop. He padded barefoot over the smooth worn wood, and allowed himself to flop into the sofa in the little office space to the east of the shop. As always, the sofa fit to his form, as it had for so many many years now. He wondered if the passenger seat of his Bentley felt as welcoming to his Angel. HIS Angel.

Aziraphale looked up from his book, smiling warmly. A smile that reached his stormy sea eyes.

"My dear" He said simply. He moved from his chair at the desk to sit with him, as he knew he enjoyed after a bath or shower. Crowley flung his long legs over the arm of the sofa, resting his head on the Angels plush, soft thighs, looking up at him. Well manicured fingers lightly stroked his face until he felt utterly relaxed and sleepy. He gently pushed back the towel, the better to smooth those fingers through his drying hair. Combing lightly through until the heat of his fingers dried the tendrils and they gleamed like the satin he wore. Crowleys eyes were lightly closed. his breathing soft and even. Aziraphale reached for a hairbrush, started working it through the silken lengths.

With a soft moaned sigh, Crowley rolled from the seat to the floor, laying his head back between the Angels knees, gazing up at him with liquid Amber eyes. Honey sweet. glowing. Aziraphale worked the brush through the lengths until there were no more snags, delighting in his hair. Oh he loved his hair long. he really should tell him more often. Remembering the first time he had seen Crowley emerge from that elegantly silken creature that slithered over to join him. How everything changed in that moment. He let his nails gently rake along that sensitive scalp, drawing more soft, content sighs. Then, deftly, capably, very much so for someone that had always worn their own hair short and manageable, he worked those russet waves into a series of plaits and coils, securing them with hairties from the handle of the brush. Pulling the curls back in an alluring sweep to show his smooth temples, angular cheekbones, the knifelike jut of his beautiful jaw.

  
Aziraphale leaned over, eye to eye, and raised the pointed chin in his fingers for a sweet, chaste, kiss.

Crowleys heart swelled in contentment. He could not decide whether he liked best, a rush of lust or the warm embrace of comfortable familiarity. And he didn't have to choose.

He closed his eyes focusing only on those warm thumbs sliding over his smooth brows, until he fell into a comfortable and warm sleep.


End file.
